In a rut

I've always heard that couples occasionally go through rough periods, small ruts. Well, I fear that the South and I are in a rut.

In case you haven't noticed, my posts have become few and far between. It's not that I don't love entertaining you with my southern wit and sarcasm (that's a joke), but lately I haven't had anything southern-relevant happen.

I think part of the issue is that I'm in Savannah. I know that this city is supposed to be steeped in tradition and history, home to many famous monuments and Civil War fortifications, but quite honestly I walk through the tradition every day without feeling its weight.

At home in the hills of North Carolina, our southern heritage is everywhere. It's in the stories told by a hillbilly at the gas station. It's in the abundance of broken down automobiles in the neighbor's front yard. It's in the redneck parade that kicks off every high school year.

Yep. That's three different kinds of Sweet Potatoes. Both tradition and heritage at its finest.

But mostly, it's in the goodness of the people - the ones who remind me of the truth in the phrase "southern hospitality." All the monuments and fortifications in the world can't replace the southern feeling I get when I'm around my kinfolk (that's southern for "family").

So tonight, I apologize. I've neglected you my fair readers, but I refuse to give you less than the best. So bear with me while I navigate my way through this strange southern terrain... but feel free to bless some hearts in the meantime, you should all be experts by now.